Of The Capitol
by Hxstia
Summary: "It is not a fine year to be the daughter of the late President's right hand man. Because this year, this day, I am sent off to die." Cassandra Heron, the unfortunate only child of the late President Snow's right hand man is pulled into the legendary lottery that caused the biggest rebellion in the history of time. And just her luck- it happens to be the most dangerous one yet.
1. Chapter 1

Heylo, bambinos, its Hestia! This is yes, I know, ridiculously short, but this was a chapter off a short story I've been posting on my Instagram blog ( thelandofmisfitfandoms), so its expected to be short, if there a good responses to this, I will post the next six super short chapters and then get back on track with proper length ones, I promise :)

Anyways, Happy reading!

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It is not a fine year to be the daughter of the late President's right hand man.

It's not a fine year at all.

Because this year, this day, I am sent off to die.

Just last Fall, the rebels charged the Capitol, killed President Snow, and handed me my death on a silver platter.

A symbolic gesture, they say. One last game. One last victor. Of course, in their own twisted sense of humor, we are to be covered on live television. We'll be provided with mentors, sponsors, interviews, the lot. A sick, twisted joke.

The Mockingjay they call her.

The savior of the districts, the bane of the Capitol.

She put on quite a show in her games. Kisses, love, the entire package. But it was obvious. In her eyes, that is. She wanted to survive. She wanted to survive without the burden of a death of someone who loved her. Logical. Cold, even. But it is a fact, no one untainted ever leaves the games. It is the reason why I am predicted on to win. Because I am unfeeling. Because I am ice.

The Capitol favorite will be Lucinda-Marie, of course. The President's grandchild. Still waddling after him like lost ducks, they are.

I was once devoted to him as well. But that was before he blew my parents sky-high.

My posture straightens with resolve. I walk up the stage as the woman announces my name. I look straight ahead. Not turning when Snow's little girl comes in next to me.

The world is watching for one last time. And so I look straight into the camera and send a silent message to Panem.

I will burn. I will burn, and will take them with me.

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So I've explained its length up there, so I don't have much to say, but you should check out my series of pjo one shots :D

Anyways, if you've read this far without leaving, I love you so much, and I won't offer you guys virtual cookies because I know it just makes you hungrier.


	2. Chapter 2

i'll be posting the first three chapters so that you guys can properly gauge the storyline, and because I love you all. :)

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The citizens of my home are clapping.

Cheering even.

They don't care.

They don't mind that it's their children heading for their graves.

They say its because they were brought up like this. Because they are used to it.

I say it's because they are sick, disgusting, foul creatures. Creatures that I once called family and friends. I know better now.

It is a cruel irony. The stony faces of the victors as they asses us one by one.

I see the woman with the sharp teeth. I see a surprisingly sober mentor from district 12.

But most importantly, I see her. Gazing at the crowd like it's their fault. Like it's our fault. Like we killed her sister.

The Mockingjay.

The boy, Peeta, he stands protectively by her side. His face is void of emotion, but his fingers drum nervously on his leg. He does not like this anymore than I do. But he can't change anything. It's already been done.

So they lead us away.

The victors.

They don't need peacekeepers to keep us in check. They can manage us perfectly fine on their own.

My point is enforced when one of the previous gamemaker's son tries to take off and the nearest victor grabs him. She snarls, baring her sharpened teeth. He goes white as a sheet and looks around uncertainly. "Back in line." She hisses.

This time, the boy is more frantic, trying to dart around her. But she's fast. She grabs him and throws him back in line like he's not a good six-feet tall. His eyes are wide, lips parted, but he gets up and the line continues to move.

Someone tugs my dress from behind me. I turn and find myself staring into soft, brown eyes. "I'm scared," Lucinda-Marie whispers.

I stare at her for a while.

She's so young.

"You should be." Is all I say before I turn away and ignore her presence.

She may be young, innocent even, but I will not hesitate to kill her. I must not hesitate to kill her. I have to win. If not for myself, then for them. For my parents.

So I take one last look at the town square. The place I once saw as my fixed point, as my home, now I see a graveyard set on an eternal flame. I shut my eyes and tune out the voices, leaving the image of the city burning onto the insides of my eyelids.

I want to take it all in one last time before I enter the Justice Building.

Because the next time I see it, I will be a cold-blooded murderer.

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One last chapter coming up!


	3. Chapter 3

The last of the previews! :)

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"Are you listening? Young lady!"

Sighing, I turn to face my stylist.

Even by Capitol standards it's an odd sight, a lady with tiger stripes coating her skin.

"Yes, Tigris." She eyes me indignantly. "Then what did I just say?" I roll my eyes.

"Are you listening? Young lady!" I mock.

She clucks impatiently, "Witty. It's not going to help you in the games, though."

I turn away, careful to keep my face blank.

Her gaze finally softens and she switches the subject, "I said, since there's no district themes to follow, we do Capitol." I can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "So we basically dress like we normally do?" I ask. "In a way, yes. But on the Mockingjay's request, we have to add a little fire into everything."

That makes the corners of my lips quirk slightly.

Of course.

Her signature flames.

My parent's burning.

She is no stranger to cruelty despite her little saint act.

"Fine." I say. She nods and turns to leave my room, but she pauses.

Throwing back her head, I see her sober expression and she turns her eyes on me. For the first time, I can see her weariness, her age, it's begun to take its toll. "I pity you." "Doesn't everyone." I mutter.

"Anyways the tribute parade is tomorrow so you'll have to be up early along with the other eleven for prepping. Oh, and Katniss gave me permission to alter one of her old dresses for you." At the mention of her real name, my lips part questioningly.

Not many use her name. Only the Mockingjay.

But if she catches my look, she doesn't tell, because she continues to prattle on. "I'll get your dress sorted out, so just you wait, you'll be a beauty." She says solemnly. I study her.

For a Capitol citizen, for someone like me, she's not that bad. I tell her as much, but my heart isn't into it. She senses it too and uses it as a cue to take her leave. So I stand alone in my room.

Beautifully done up, state-of-the-art technology, it's not too different from home. But how many have inhabited this room, sat in this chair, slept in this bed?

How many have been sent back to their family in a box? The bitter taste of bile rises to my throat, but I swallow it.

At least I won't have that to worry about.

At least my parents will never stand over my body and weep.

I lace my fingers together and prop my elbows against the windowsill and stare at the clear droplets streaking down the glass.

At the very least.

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So yeah, whether this stays or goes depends solely on your responses from here on out.

So once again, Good Day and Good Night,

To everyone under our blue, blue sky

xx Hestia


	4. Chapter 4

Special thanks to **ChasingWolves **and **BrySt1 **for the support!

Disclaimer: I do not own the fantastic trilogy that will live on into the generations after us, I'm merely borrowing its ingenious plot and bending to the purpose of entertainment for its fans. Also, I'm not a wonderfully evil middle-aged woman named Suzanne Collins.

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I don't move my eyes from the reflection in front of me. The girl glaring back at me is familiar, yet not. The same dark hair, now braided back in intricate swirls. The same unforgiving eyes like blue glass, now enhanced by dark, smouldering, eyeshadow. It is me, but it is not me. It's the same features, but a seemingly completely different person.

"I told you." Tigris say triumphantly. I shift my gaze towards her, "Are you sure this mirror isn't two way and someone else is on the other side glaring at me?" I ask uncertainly.

"Oh sweetheart, we can fix that."

And a sudden pressure falls on my cheek. My skin prickles with heat. I turn to see Tigris nodding slightly like she's admiring artwork. My disbelief rips out an almost whiny sounding reply from my lips, "You slapped me!" She shrugs, "It worked, didn't it?"

I stare at her incredulously. Is she for real? "Wait," she says, suddenly studying my face intently. "Well this won't do," she mutters to herself. "What now?" I demand, not at all in the mood for her antics. "You're as pale a milkbottle, girl. And we have a cheek glowing like a tomato and the other like fallen snow."

My nostrils flare slightly and through gritted teeth, I speak, "And who's fault is that, exactly?" She brushes me off we a shooing motion and sits me back down at the dressing table. "We can easily fix that, though..." She trails off, still studying my reflection. I realize what she means a second too late.

"Don't you dare-" But she will never know what I dared her to never do be cause the same brute force makes contact with my other cheek, and I hold in a yelp.

I clench my jaw with my hand, cradling it. My hands are cool to the touch on the burning heat spreading across my cheeks. "There," she says. "much better."

I don't say anything because if I do, it'll be a very long string of colorful choice words.

"Now come here," she says moving away from my side, beckoning for me to join her by the changing screen. "Let's get you into your dress."

The pit of my stomach is a cocktail of uneasiness, annoyance and fear. Lots and lots of fear. But I will do what I have intended to do. I will be cold, aloof. So basically what I already am.

My throat catches when I see the dress. It is black, with small red jewels adorning the front. Although the front of the dress has been cut to expose my knees, It is unmistakably the same one the mockingjay wore for the Quarter Quell. "How on earth did you get her to loan me this?" I ask, unable to say her name quite yet.

Tigris cocks an oddly shaped eyebrow, "You didn't know? Katniss's your mentor, dear."

My entire body stiffens. My eyes are wide and my lips are parted. Of course. The one mentor I would have zero chance of receiving help from. Somehow, I have the impression that I would do better with the lady sporting the pointed teeth or the one who went mad after her games.

"Who's my partner?" I ask. Tigris thinks for a while, "It's the gamemaker's boy." I nod, because I know who she's talking about. It is the boy that tried to run. Elias Crane.

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Thanks for reading! Yeah, I know that it's still short, but that's because I wrote seven short chapters, so once I post all of them, I'll start with the 1000-3000 word ones.

Good day :)

xxHestia


	5. Chapter 5

**EDIT: 25/5/2013 **

** (Special thanks to _BrySt1 _and_ Foxface Nightlock _for informing me or this edit wouldn't even be here!)**

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My surprise is poorly hidden when she lights up my dress.

It still flashes red hot like burning coal, but I am gasping at the unanticipated wisps of translucent blue flames tickling the dress, wrapping around it like a sash.

So she did more than alter it to fit me. She's been busy.

"Tigris, I must say, I wasn't that sure of it, at first, but now I'm certain. You're insane." I say solemnly in my way of complementing her. "So wonderfully insane." She beams, "Your welcome." Tigris switches it back off and leads me forward to stand with my partner who's nervous energy I can sense from all the way here.

His wide dark eyes are trained on the Presidential stand. That's where the mentors stand, and she's standing as their head.

"Hello, Elias." I say as I come in next to him. His body tenses, but after a moments hesitation, relaxes.

"Cassandra, right?"

I nod, not directly looking at him. I can feel the weight of his piercing gaze. He turns away to stare off into the distance once more.

"How do you do it?" He finally says after minutes of heavy tension in the air, and it comes out so softly I almost miss it.

"Do what?"

I ask in return in the same soft tone he used. "How do you remain calm? They're going to kill us." I shrug slightly, "Well, not directly, but that's the general idea." He turns to face me and I feel compelled to do the same. "You're avoiding my question."

"Yes," I say, louder this time. "but before I answer you, riddle me this, have you asked this question before? When it wasn't your life at stake? When it was all just a television program?"

His head droops slightly and I notice a pale pink flush creep up his throat. That gives me all I need to know. I turn to face forward, propping my elbows against the chariot.

"Exactly."

Abruptly, he drives his fist into the base of the chariot, and despite myself, I flinch. He brings it back up and starts examining it.

"Just answer me, please," The desperation in his voice is unmistakeable now. "How do you just calmly keep your fears at bay without even trying?" I am silent for a while. "If you must know, I don't." I finally relent, "That is, I don't do it calmly."

"Everyone has their weaknesses, everyone has their fears. If you can't overcome them, then conceal it, and try your very best not to feel it. You'll go mad if you don't."

He raises a pale eyebrow, "That's it?"

"That's it. If you're a good actor like me, you'll be able to pull it off."

His eyes suddenly bore into mine, as if he's digging through my mind. It unnerves me.

"You aren't putting on a very good show now, are you?" He says snatching up my hand. His fingers encircling my wrist are warm on my cool skin. My trembling slows to soft shudders as he carefully steadies me.

"You're shaking." I shoot him a half-smile which is as much as I can manage at the moment.

"Hey, you deal with your problems your way, I deal with them mine."

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Thanks for reading and have a great day! Leave a review if you liked it, cause it helps me out a lot, and thanks again for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**EDIT: 25/5/2013**

**(Special thanks to _BrySt1_ and _Foxface Nightlock_ for pointing out that itty bitty mistake.) Happy reading!**

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I spot Lucinda-Marie looking glorious in a white flowing gown, wisps of white and gray smoke curling around her. She stands in the chariot, head held high next to her partner, Hermes Thread, the youngest son of one of the Head Peacekeepers. He is similarly adorned in white clothes, looking young, pale, and terrified.

Her bottom lip trembles, but she bravely manages a smile as the Capitol, as the districts cheer and scream for blood. In other words, she's putting on a marvelous show. I can't say the same about the Thread boy, with his wild eyes and stiff posture, the districts are visibly waiting to tear him apart.

My eyes move towards the cheering crowd, the districts in particular, no longer paying attention to the next pair that rolls out on their chariot. The districts have changed. No more peace-loving, anti-violence villagers. The bloodshed in the last rebellion was their last straw. I can't say I'm too surprised.

Finally, I shift my gaze back to the current tributes and resist the urge to smirk. The pair's stylist must have made a mistake. Instead of flashing like flames in the night, they light up twinkling like ridiculous stars.

Sena and Jakobi Landlen. The official Capitol executioners' twins, dark skinned and weeping as they wheel their way towards the Presidential Stand.

And then it's our turn.

Elias and I stand stiffly in our chariot as we ride out into the glaring heat of the sun. It blinds me momentarily, and when my vision clears, I am faced with thousands of cheering citizens, clapping and jabbing fingers at us. It's strange to see them together.

Capitol and Districts; Districts and Capitol.

"Ready?" Elias yells over the roar of the audience. I turn to him, my face grim. Without so much as a word, I turn my back on him and press my thumb down against the button. The effect is instantaneous. My dress releases a crackling hiss as it begins to burn, the orange embers glowing, the blue wisps shimmering ferociously around my bodice.

His suit is just like mine, his face cold and withdrawn, but less intimidating as apposed to mine, which I suppose is due to the lack of make-up. As we roll up to the stand, still blatantly glaring at the crowd, she steps forward, her face an emotionless mask.

Tapping the microphone head, the Mockingjay inhales-

And I switch off the television.

Dumping the remote by my bedside table, I let myself unceremoniously fall backwards onto my bed. I shut my eyes and let a sigh escape my lips.

I don't need to hear her speech again.

I don't _want_ to hear her speech again.

It's been hours since the ceremony came to pass.

Tigris has been uncharacteristically silent, Elias has retreated to his room, and me? I've forced myself to rewatch the ceremony on television.

But where is our mentor?

One would think that she would at least come around to start briefing us for our training. But no, she hasn't been heard of since the ceremony.

For the first few minutes alone, I'd let myself cry. Cry because without the training, without a proper mentor, I wouldn't survive out there by myself. Elias has agreed to ally himself with me, but that just makes the both of us targets. Without the help of a mentor to receive sponsors, the chances of our survival dwindle in the single digits.

They will all hunt us, because we are the threat. We are the object of the betters' eyes.

But I've steeled myself. It's been a long time since I've last shed tears.

I make a promise to myself right here and now.

I promise that I will never submit to the Mockingjay.

_I promise to hate Katniss Everdeen to the day I die._

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Thanks for reading, and if you liked it leave a review, it'll only take a moment of your time, but it'll do me so much! Have a great day.


	7. Chapter 7

Apologies for the hiatus and again, a very short chapter. But this will be the last of that, I promise. This is the last of the trial batch so from now on, chapters will be _way_ longer. In the meantime, enjoy.

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The knife sinks into the target with a loud snap.

My breathing is heavy and a new sheen of sweat beads my forehead. My back straightens as I reel back.

"Good throw,"

I turn to face Elias, who stands next to our mentor. He's clutching a sword in his left hand, which is odd. He's a right hander, see.

The mockingjay assess me coldly, and finally she speaks, "Where did you learn to throw like that?" I stare right back at her defiantly, refusing to speak. We've been going back and forth like this for days now. Elias being the mediator between the two of us sighs, and repeats, "Say, Cassandra, where did you learn to throw knives."

Not turning my attention away from her, I say "My mother had a thing for knives. She taught me."

"Yes, _that's_ how we communicate with other human beings, _good job_ on that." I turn away and gingerly picked up a longer knife, it's blade thin and sleek.

"She was a district woman, see. I suppose no matter how much time goes by a career will always be a career." The second knife misses it's mark by a hair. Rubbing my hands together I turn again to see the mockingjay, eyes wide and sharp with a warning. "That's not exactly the best thing to say about your parents right at the moment." My eyes uncaringly meet her own blazing emeralds. I shrug and move towards the door. I've had enough for today.

"Woah, woah, woah, calm down, Cassandra." Elias warns, latching on to my arm in to hold me back, but he quickly retracts his hand. His right hand. A lazy smirk crawls up my lips, "Playing it cool while sporting a sprained wrist wasn't exactly your brightest idea, now was it, Elias?"

I turn my back and make my way towards the exit, this time uninterrupted. My eyes dart from left to right, taking in the other tributes. They've all crowded around the edible plants station. Swords and knives are too far out of their comfort zones I suppose.

No longer playing with their plastic swords anymore, huh.

I'm about to leave the room when she screams, "So that's it then? You don't care whether or not your parents die now?" I freeze, my hand on the doorway. My hands itch to throw something at her, or even close around her neck. I turn slowly to see that all the other tributes and mentors staring at me. Some with mirth, some with disgust, some with pity.

So I say the only thing that comes to mind without any colorful choice words.

"You can't kill what is already dead."

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Leave a review if you liked the chapter because God knows the only motivation this lazy ass ever gets are her reviews.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hiatus-break? Nah. I'm just a really bad author with a terrible attention span. I apologize to everyone who still follow this and have been waiting for aeons. Again, i'm sorry it's not tok long **

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT THE PUNY WRETCHES I CALL OCS AND THIS PATICULAR PLOT. ALL RIGHTS GO TO SUZANNE COLLINS AND HER PUBLISHERS. **

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After my little performance in the training room, the other tributes have been avoiding me. Excluding Elias of course, but sometimes I figure that he has a death wish.

The mockingjay, Everdeen, I've managed to start calling her ( I still very much refuse to speak her first name), has decided that I'm suddenly worthy of her training. The sessions are intense, exhausting, and very very quiet. We don't talk, the three of us. Elias included. It wasn't until the night before the final interview with Caesar Flickerman (God knows why they've kept him alive), last night, when she'd finally spoken to us.

"You'll be allying yourself with Peeta's tributes. You will separate if and only if you all of you four survive to the final six. " She said in a clipped tone that indicated that there would be no further discussion and turned on her heel and left the room.

"Any idea who Peeta Mellark's tributes are?" Elias asked after a moment of shocked silence.

I nodded tentatively, "The Thread boy and Snow's grand kid."

He shook his head and sighed, "Must you refer to him as Snow without so much as a 'mister' or a 'president'?

My lip curled into a snarl as bitter words rolled off my tongue, "He's dead. I'm not following him like you brainless little sheep, trotting blindly after a memory."

I stood abruptly and left without excusing myself. Heck, tomorrow was my last day to live. To hell with niceties.

* * *

Cheers from the audience reverberate through the studio as the man of the hour, Cesar Flickerman himself, bounds up on to the stage, arms raised in greeting, milking it for what it's worth. I hold in a bitter chuckle at his enthusiasm. He could at least try not to look so eager for one last huzzah.

This year, his hair is an alarmingly loud gold. No doubt yet another tribute to the girl on fire. Or is she just the Mockingjay now?

Another wave of enthusiasm echos through the corridor, washing over us as we sit in a frigid silence, waiting for the charades to begin. It seems that all the tributes are to go up in their designated pairs to save time and so everyone's huddled up in, again, matching outfits and talking in hushed whispers.

Elias and I are scheduled to go smack dab in the middle of the programme, which neither of us appreciated in the slightest. We'd decided to not go by a play. It was a risky thing to do, but we agreed that if they were going to like us, though Elias was adamant that at this rate they wouldn't, they would have to like us as we were.

We aren't going to wag any tails.

I'm not going to wag any tails.

In a way, I'm thankful to be partnered with him. He knows when to pick a fight, and when to let it slide. I'll give him props for that.

Amongst the tributes, being the only one that knows how to properly handle a weapon, it's no surprise that I've been singled out as public enemy number one. No one would say it to my face, but I'd have to be an invalid to miss the quiet murmuring, the forced smiles, and the wary glances.

They know I'm at an advantage, and they plan to use that common knowledge against me. It wasn't a bad idea, really. But in all our time here, most of them had opted for the survival skills. It's clear that they have no real intention to kill.

Still, they aren't anything to be overlooked. They're all scared, and fear is a dangerous thing. Fear could push one over the edge. Ironically, we're in the best set up for an example.

My train of thoughts is abruptly derailed by a sharp tap on my shoulder. I turn to face Elias, a silent question in my gaze. His eyes dart upwards, towards the display screen.

Without me knowing, the programme has already begun, and the pair up first are the twins. It seems they've both learned to put on a brave face. It's a good effort from the both of them, but the jerky movements and the exaggerated rise and falls of their shoulders don't escape my notice.

However, the last event held they were in hysterics. It was a huge leap forward. As an act, they were pretty convincing.

A round of applause thunders through the studio as Sena stands to show off her dress. It's a number in shimmering, white silk, contrasting marvelously against her skin. Cesar joins in, on his feet as well as he flashes the audience a wanton grin. Jakobi just sits back and smiles, like it's a great day to be him.

This is where I fall short. This is how the other tributes will beat me. They're all undeniably charismatic. Likeable. And they have no qualms about abusing their talents in a situation as such.

I can feel the stir in the air as Elias leans down to bury his face in his hands.

"What," My voice cuts through the silence like an icy blade, "are you nervous?"

I mean it as a joke, but it comes out a little sharper than anticipated. The realisation hits me like a ten ton anvil- I need him right now.

I need him to be my speaker and pull my weight. We'd agreed not to put on an act, but that was mainly for me. He doesn't have to act. He's a people person and I'm not. He can't be anxious. I need him to pull through.

It's the most selfish thought to ever cross my mind, but I'm not going to deny it. I'm done being a good person.

"Elias," I murmur just loud enough for him to discern, eyes glued firmly to the screen, "we have four more pairs before us. Four pairs, twenty minutes. You're going to pull yourself together. You're going to pull yourself together because if you leave me by myself out there, we're both dead. Do you understand me?"

My words are slow, almost condescendig, and when he looks up at me, I understand hatred as terrible as my own. I see the burning abhorrence in his dark, dark eyes as he reaches down to straighten his tie, never once breaking away from her gaze.

"Fine." He says, and I almost recoil at the venom in his tone. Elias straightens in his seat and graces me with a smile. It looks pleasant enough, but his eyes still burn, and in them I can see myself without a head. The message is clear. When we split, I am his target.

And if so, he is mine.

Bearing this in mind, we both rise as we're called forth by stage hands. I cast him a smile. He responds in turn. This is our battle to the death. This is the beginning.

And then our names are announced, followed by a rowdy round of applause. Then, we step into the light, arm in arm, waiting for the day we will be free to slit each other's throats.

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**Leave lovely thoughts ㇩0**


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